


Atonement

by Not2be



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Guilt, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Loss, Love, M/M, Other, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:47:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23956360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not2be/pseuds/Not2be
Summary: A conversation Crowley and Aziraphale have in a church.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	Atonement

As soon as he crossed the threshold the burning began. Pale light filtered in though the massive stained-glass windows. Crowley couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the depiction of Mother Mary holding the baby Jesus. He wondered how many who came there would actually be willing to help a young unwed pregnant mother in the middle of the night. Oh well, hypocrisy was good for business.

It was strange how much those walls had meant to so many, full cycles of life had happened in those pews. Both grief and joy. Weddings, christenings, funerals. Crowley had a hard time associating it with anything other than betrayal. Even after thousands of years he still had to swallow down some of his bitterness. His feet sizzling against the stone floor reminded him he was on a mission.

There it was. A shock of white-blonde curly hair. _Angel._

He was kneeling beside the pew. His eyes were closed, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were a bloodless white. As Crowley got closer, he could hear him feverishly and hushed, speaking in a language long since dead.

“Aziraphale, what on earth are you doing here?”

“I’m praying.” Crowley sucked in a sharp breath.

“Demons don’t pray.” It came out harsher than he intended but given the circumstances he was perhaps a little on edge.

“I’m not a demon.”

 _Oh._ “ _Aziraphale-”_

“I’m _not_ a demon. I’m not an angel either. I’m nothing.” The former angel began resolutely. Then he looked up for the first time since Crowley had arrived, his eyes bright and glassy a sad smile on his tired face.

“Maybe I’m just a confused old man, sitting on a park bench and feeding the ducks. Wouldn’t that be nice.”

“Maybe.” _Only if I get to be there too._

“When I was falling, I thought I’d come out the other side completely different. Everything would burn in the fire and come out new.” Crowley has to lean in to hear the other man’s hushed voice.

“But it didn’t change, not really. The yearning stayed. Even when I was an angel, all I wanted was for them to love me. My brothers, my sisters. Her. I wanted Her to love me. I was the closest I’d ever be to Her and even then, I felt miles away. And now I’ve plummeted as far as I can and I still long for- how can I miss something I never really had, Crowley? Angels aren’t meant to be loved. They are beings of love, they give it and spread good will…sometimes…but they aren’t meant to be loved. And demons aren’t built to do either. So why do I feel…maybe this is my punishment.” His eyes were not that of a demon or a fierce solider of the lord, a timeless ancient being. Instead they were wild and sad, almost human.

“You don’t _need_ to be punished!”

“My grace” Aziraphale’s voice was filled with such loss Crowley felt his chest seize up.

He struggled around the lump in his throat “I _know_.”

“I was overflowing with warm golden light. In constant communion with the divine- and even then, I felt a distance. Perhaps I was a cracked vessel from the start.”

“She doesn’t make mistakes.”

“There was a flood Crowley. There is pestilence and war. It stands to reason that I too-”

“That has nothing to do with you.”

“Aren’t I complicit? When children drowned. When you fell. I did nothing.”

What Crowley wanted to say was: You couldn’t have done anything; I don’t blame you. The only reason we met in the Garden was because we both were what we were, and I wouldn’t change that for a second. I’d fall again and again if you were there at the other side. You were always too soft and naïve and kind and stubborn and a bit of a bastard for your own good, but I wouldn’t change a thing about you. Not one molecule or hair or tartan shirt. I adore you angel exactly as you are. Angel or not. You’re my best friend and it destroys me to see you hurting like this.

But he felt a creeping hopeless frustration, a fear that he was losing the being he loved more than anything for over 6 thousand years and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. So instead he just said:

“That’s it we’re leaving. You’re done with this pointless charade.”

“It’s penance. It’s holly” He had a serene resigned look on his face that twisted Crowley’s stomach in knots.

“It’s ssstupid.” Crowley’s patience was dwindling.

“It’s the only way I can talk to Her still. I’m so cold all the time now. If I try very very hard-I can almost hear them singing again…”

“Aziraphale, _please_.” For someone so smart Az could be so daft.

“You should go dear boy. You’re in pain.”

“So are you!”

“I want to be!”

There was a heated moment where they stared at each other, it was the most of a response Crowley had gotten from him since arriving at the church. Aziraphale swallowed deeply and turned to look away again.

The pain was righteous, it was cleansing, it was holy.

It was fasting and walking through the boiling desert barefoot.

It was devotion and obedience.

It was climbing up the mountain with yourself as sacrifice.

It was denial of the flesh of the temporal of earthly concerns and desires to service the spirit.

Like volcanic ash fertilizing the soil in wake of its destruction.

In Aziraphale’s previous life as an angel, he had loved earthly pleasures. He loved pouring over his Oscar Wilde books, the ones Oscar had inscribed himself just for Aziraphale. He loved fresh baked pastry and crepes. He loved long walks around the duck pond, and those rare sunny days. He loved dancing the gavotte. Most of all he had fallen in love, with a demon. Far beyond agape biblically sanctioned love, far beyond what he was created for. From the beginning he was too soft, too attached, a poor excuse for an angel.

After the fire, he was determined to let go of it all. He would hollow himself out to be a true vessel of the lord.

“Hmm? We saved the world. You and I. You and I against them all. I thought we didn’t need them anymore; we were done with them. We can still run away together; they won’t bother us. Why isn’t that enough for you?” _why aren’t I enough?_

The pain was destructive, it was futile, it was pathetic.

It was hurting the one he loved most in the universe.

It was betrayal and denial and sickness.

But his chest ached with the barrenness, the void that his Grace left behind when it was ripped from him.

His instinct had always been to isolate. And with Crowley gone the chasm grew. Why did he have to want so much? Why did he have to be so hungry? Why…why did he want to be loved?

And why was all of it at odds with his worthiness to have it.

He did not deserve to be an angel or a person.

He did not deserve God’s love.

He did not deserve his brother’s and sister’s mercy and forgiveness.

And most painfully of all he did not deserve Crowley.

“I am atoning for my sins.”

“What. Could you possibly have to atone for a-” he had to stop himself even now from saying angel “-Aziraphale?” When he didn’t respond the serpent continued desperately.

“We saved the world. We stopped the apocalypse!”

“Once. But how many times did I stand by and watch its destruction and pain- I stood by and watched-” his voice caught “You. Get hurt.”

“You always went too fast for me, didn’t you, old boy.” The ache in Aziraphale’s voice burned him more than the consecrated ground they stood upon.

“Aziraphale, all those things. That heaven and hell are responsible for…they’re not your fault. And I-I forgive you.”

The former angel turned to look at him eyes glassy “Lying is a sin.”

_I wouldn’t lie to you Aziraphale, not after all this time._

“Are you coming with me or not. Please. You can let yourself be happy.” _Let us be happy._ Aziraphale looked searchingly at him and for a moment a cruel glimmer of hope sprouted in Crowley's chest.

“I don’t know who I am anymore if I’m not here.”

“Then I’ll just have to help you remember.”

Aziraphale’s chest heaved and to his great shame, he was sobbing. For once the burning wasn’t enough. He fell into Crowley’s arms, getting the comfort he both desperately craved and loathed himself for needing. Crowley’s slender fingers carded through his curls and for the first time in months he didn’t feel he was floating out of his skin or sinking under the weight of everything. But it was still right there on the edge of his vision, waiting to rush back in.

Eventually the two left the church. The burning kept on burning. 

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't decide if this story should have a happy or sad end. So I went for somewhere in-between. Thanks for reading!


End file.
